


Can't You Hear Me Screaming?

by lls_mutant



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Caprica (TV)
Genre: Gen, LGBTQ Character, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lls_mutant/pseuds/lls_mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times a gay or bisexual man was raped in the Colonies.  All of them went looking for justice, but only one of them could find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't You Hear Me Screaming?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kappamaki33 for the beta job!

_He was drowning, or at least he wished he was. There was pain, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, but that was far from the worst of it. Hands held him down and no matter how he fought he couldn't escape. And he did fight – he fought with everything in him. Because this shouldn't be happening, this was nothing like what he'd ever wanted. This wasn't sex. This was violence. He told himself that over and over, but he wasn't sure it made a difference, because it was both. It was sex as violence, violence as sex._

Pain. Humiliation. Fear. Anger. Hate. Disgust. He fought with a primal desperation, nails scratching and teeth biting when punches and kicks did no good.

But in the end, he lost.

 

**Tom Zarek**

 

The water dripped from the shower head to the cracked cement floor. Tom closed his eyes, trying to block out the steady, monotonous sound. The floor was wet and warm beneath his cheek, and a trickle of blood spiraled towards the drain in the center of the room. With an effort that his body didn't want to give, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. His body felt old, even though he was only twenty-five.

_Help me._ His lips formed the silent plea, but he couldn't force himself to say it out loud. He had no idea who was standing right outside the showers. His arms trembled and his knees protested the concrete. He eased back off his hands and onto his knees.

Footsteps. Finally, after gods knew how long, footsteps. The footsteps echoed off the walls – hard soles. A guard, then. No, two. He relaxed in relief and the footsteps stopped.

"Yup. Figured it was eight-nine-three-eight-nine-three," a voice that Tom recognized as Galvin said. "Took 'em long enough."

"Who had book on three months?" Kressler said.

"Baker," Galvin answered laconically. "Lucky frak. I think he made a good fifty cubits off this one."

Tom grit his teeth, still not turning around. "You bet on who was gonna do it, too?" Every word hurt, but he knew he had to stay angry. Anger meant strength, and he couldn't show weakness. Not now. He couldn't break. He couldn't let them - any of them, prisoners or guards - _see_ him break. If he did, there would be no end to this, and they would keep coming back.

"Nah." Kressler grabbed Tom's arm and hauled him to his feet, not ungently. Tom staggered, not able to completely suppress his groan. Kressler smirked. "Guess we'd better get you to the doctor."

"And then what happens?" Tom asked.

Galvin shrugged. "You go back to your cell. What do you think happens?"

"You move me to another cell block, and they go into solitary." Tom had heard the stories.

Two guards looked at each other and began to laugh. "You really think," Galvin began, "that we toss them in solitary? Frak, you're in here for a _reason_. Does blowing up buildings mean a damn thing to you?"

"It means justice," Tom ground out, trying to stand straight and well aware of the fact he was still naked. Fortunately, they were in hallways of drab gray, not walking down the center of the cellblock, where all the eyes could see him.

"Justice?" Galvin snorted. "_This_ is justice, you frak. And you ought to be glad you're getting off so easy."

"Easy?" It hurt to walk, it hurt to _breathe_, it hurt to hold his head up and pretend that this was just another day.

"Yeah. You're used to this kind of thing."

Tom had done his best not to think about Mark for the three months he'd been in prison. It was better that way, because whenever he thought of that rat-tailed bastard of a traitor, he was left with a raging anger and betrayal for which there was no outlet. But Mark _had_ existed, and there had been pictures in the paper to prove it, just like there had been pictures of Tom with Genevieve and with Angela. "I'm used to sex with a man," he snarled. "I'm not used to being raped."

"Well, get used to it." To Galvin, it was simple. "Not like we can toss them in jail." He laughed, and then turned to Kressler. "You got him from here?"

"Yeah. It's almost time to get them all out for exercise." Kressler glanced at his watch. "I'll be there in ten."

"Right. See you then." Galvin walked off, already forgetting what had happened as just another job in the workday, and Tom ceased to exist as anything but a number and a responsibility.

Tom watched him go, and then turned to Kressler. "What am I supposed to do, then? There's got to be some sort of authority… someone I can report this to."

"That's not how it works. Some people might consider you a freedom fighter, but according to the gods and the law and the courts, you're a godless butcher, and a fag besides. You're on your own. If I was you, I'd find someone to protect me." He snorted. "You might not be used to rape, but I'm sure you can handle a few blow jobs. You're young, and you're good-looking, and some of the prisoners in here think you're a hero. Shouldn't be a problem." He guided Tom to the infirmary, ready to finish this task and move on to the next.

Two hours later, Tom Zarek returned to his cell with a few stitches, a tube of topical medicine, and the assurance that the only way that this might not happen to him again was to find someone who would fight for him. The authorities and the government wouldn't do it, and besides, they weren't always around when they were needed. Somehow, this wasn't what he'd envisioned when the government said they would bring him to his knees.

That night, he approached Singer in the prison yard. Singer was a lifer, with a whip-thin physique and hard, steel-gray eyes. Not only would the others not cross Singer, but Tom was sure he could learn. Life inside a prison was a lot different than life out, and Tom was going to figure out how to survive here, no matter what he had to give to do it.

It was prostitution, plain and simple. It wasn't anything Tom wanted, and it was all business with no pleasure. But it was the only way Tom found any sort of protection at all.

 

**Louis Hoshi**

 

Commander Cain had a small sculpture on her desk. Louis had noticed it before, but he never really looked at it until now. It was a statue of a woman standing with her foot on the chest of a Cylon, a gun in her hands, aimed at her fallen enemy. He focused on it, willing his face to stay blank as he faced his commanding officer.

Cain sat back in her chair, studying him over templed fingers. Louis found himself holding his breath, the nervousness in the pit of his stomach spreading. She should have spoken long before this.

His eye was still throbbing - there wasn't much that the doctor could do about that. Sitting wasn't overly comfortable either. But you didn't squirm in Commander Cain's presence. He was lucky he was allowed to sit at all, for that matter, but even Cain couldn't deny him that. So Louis sat silently, just waiting.

Finally, Cain sighed. "The problem is, Lieutenant," she said, looking directly at him, "you know the stereotypes as well as I do. Gay men are soft, weak, and effeminate."

"It's only a stereotype in certain areas of the Colonies," Louis said defiantly, lifting his chin. "And we both know it's not always true."

"Weak," Cain continued, as if Louis hadn't spoken. "Soft and weak. And a weak soldier is a reflection on his or her Commander."

Louis's stomach froze over, because this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. He faced her defiantly. "I am not weak, sir."

Cain's gaze didn't waver. "I know that, Hoshi," she said, and for a moment compassion flashed in her eyes. But maybe he had imagined it, because her face immediately hardened back into the mask of command. "But you need to look at it from an outside perspective. What the brass will see when this case comes across their desk is a gay man- an _officer_\- assaulted by two crewmen. Crewmen, I might add, with no especial rank. It doesn't speak well for the chain of command on this ship. _You_ could not assert your authority. _I_ could not assert _mine._"

Louis's spine stiffened. "Sir," he said, each word edged with razor blades, "are you saying that this is my fault?"

"I didn't say that," Cain said, although Louis thought she very well might be thinking it. "But it will be a perception."

"I'm prepared to face that," Louis growled through gritted teeth. "I'll face anything for this. Those bastards deserve to go down."

Cain raised her eyebrows. "It's only been twenty years that we've had our rights in all of the Colonies," she said. "Twenty years, out of two thousand. That's not very long."

"It's only been Sagittaron, Tauron, and Gemenon that have held out for so long. The situation has been different on the other Colonies, especially on Caprica and Libran," Louis pushed. "And not that it matters. We _have_ our rights." He paused. "What if I was a straight woman? What would you do then?"

Cain's expression darkened. "I am allowing you a great deal of latitude right now, Lieutenant, and you would do well to remember that." He flushed, and she took that for an apology. "The right to serve in the military- to advance all the way to Admiral- is something that is, historically speaking, a recent development for us. And it's still not something that many of us have accomplished. Not because we're not capable, but because we're not _seen_ as capable. We're too sensitive, too _soft_ to command. Especially the men."

Louis's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying that if I go forward, I'm risking my career?"

"Not just your career, but the careers of other men and women in the service." Cain's eyes were hard, and suddenly, Louis saw what she really meant. _If you go forward, you're risking _my_ career. It shows _I_ can't keep my soldiers in line._ For a moment he was so outraged he couldn't even speak.

Finally, the words came out, strangled and angry. "I was _raped._ I don't get justice for that?"

"I didn't say that. But I don't want to see this on the desk of the Fleet Judge Advocate Corps."

"It's cut and dried," Louis said desperately. "I already went to sickbay. Dr. Malvern has the samples. She can testify about my condition. It's not going to be my word against theirs. There is _evidence._ There won't be any courtroom dramas. It will be over and done."

"And you'll be marked forever. Let me be clear about this, Lieutenant Hoshi. If you go forward with this, you won't be court marshaled. You won't be dishonorably discharged. But your career in the military will be _over_. You will not advance past junior lieutenant. They won't let you." _And if you cost me a promotion, _I_won't let you._

Louis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I will live with that, Commander."

"You're making a mistake, Lieutenant."

"No. I'm not."

"All right," Cain relented. "But I warned you of the consequences."

Louis was right about the nature of the trial. It was cut and dried, with no drama and a swift sentencing. But Cain was right about the perception, and eventually, when she was promoted to Admiral she finally put his name in for a promotion. It was turned down, because he was judged as "ineffective at command", and when she gave him the decision, he couldn't look her in the eye.

When the _Pegasus_ found the _Galactica_ ten years later, Louis was still a junior lieutenant. And he knew exactly why that was.

 

**Felix Gaeta**

 

"You shouldn't walk alone," Cottle told Felix, shrugging off his white jacket and pulling on a coat. "I'll take you up there."

"I'll be all right," Felix protested. "_Colonial One_'s not that far away."

"After what just happened?" Cottle's sharp eyes roamed over Felix's bruised face, torn jacket, and the bandage on his wrist. "Don't be an idiot."

"Default setting these days," Felix muttered. Cottle didn't answer.

The truth was, Felix was grateful. As they stepped out into the cold New Caprica air he shivered, pulling his jacket around him tighter. He wished he could just go home and curl up into a ball of misery, but it wasn't an option.

A Centurion patrol passed them as they made their way through the city. Cottle snorted. "Fat lot of good they're doing you," he muttered. Fortunately, he said it quietly enough that Felix could pretend he didn't hear it. Cottle glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and then finally sighed and lit a cigarette. After a moment's thought, he handed it to Felix, and then lit another for himself. Felix took a deep drag, noticing that his hand was still shaking as he did so.

There were eyes on them - angry eyes, angry faces. Felix couldn't help it; he looked down at the ground, unable to meet their gaze. But with Cottle at his side, no one came at him this time. No one would dare. It galled him that he, a former soldier, needed a bodyguard twice his age, but apparently, he did.

They arrived at _Colonial One_, and Cottle stopped. This was as far as the escort went, then. Felix couldn't blame him. He nodded. "Thanks."

"I don't understand what the frak it is you think you're doing," Cottle said, "but you didn't deserve this. If you need more medical assistance, come back." _Otherwise, stay the frak away from me, collaborator._ Cottle didn't say the last part, but Felix heard it loud and clear. He ducked his head and turned away.

_Colonial One_ felt strange to him, and it took a moment to realize why. He felt _safe_ here, even as an Eight crossed his path and a Two and a Four were quietly conversing in the hall. He shivered, drawing his jacket tighter around him.

A Three approached. "Gaeta," she said irritably, "where have you been all morning? You were due at a meeting two hours ago."

"I know," he said miserably. "I need to file a report." He paused. "A criminal report."

The Three arched an eyebrow, but she gestured to him. "All right. Come with me."

Felix followed her into the President's Office, heartily wishing that it would be empty and knowing that it wouldn't. Several Cylons were sitting at a table, heads together as they discussed something. Gaius Baltar looked up, and then started into concern. "Felix…"

Felix looked away. Gaius was the last person he wanted to deal with right now, and he found of all people, he couldn't bear the look on _his_ face right now. Instead, he set his gaze on a One. The One was wearing a brown leather jacket as opposed to the black that most of them wore, and Felix knew from experience he tended to be a little more fair-minded.

The One felt Felix's gaze on him and looked up from his work. His stare lingered on the bruises, and a line appeared between his eyes. "What happened?"

Felix raised his chin, not looking anywhere else in the room. "I've told you before that people aren't happy with this… collaboration," he said. "Someone decided to express it."

"So I see." It was like they were alone in the room. "Did you seek medical attention?"

"Yes."

"The damage?"

Felix swallowed hard. "Bruises, cracked ribs, slight concussion, internal damage from sexual assault, and a dislocated shoulder that Cottle popped back into place."

"The concussion could be a concern," the One said, frowning.

"The concussion?" It was Baltar who spoke up. "The man just told you he's been _raped_, and you worry about a concussion?"

_Don't look at him. Don't look at him,_ Felix ordered himself. His fists clenched so hard that his nails cut into his palms, and he stared at the One.

"Raped?" the One seemed almost amused by the concept. "You humans put far too much emphasis on the act of sex. Why should a small piece of flesh barely inside a person have such an effect on you?"

"It is _not_ that simple," Baltar retorted haughtily, "because it is not merely about sex. It's a violation."

"Violation?" the One laughed. The other Cylons looked up as well, as the conversation became the focal point of the room. "What do you humans know about violation? Have you ever had your entire existence debased for the pleasure of a puny, unworthy life form? When that happens to you, _then_ you can come tell me about violations."

_But that's exactly what did happen._ Felix wanted to say the words, but the One would obviously dismiss them. He found himself looking at Baltar, almost begging him with his eyes.

And for once… for once in his life Baltar actually rose to the occasion. He drew himself up and looked in the One's eye. "What you just said describes _exactly_ what a rape victim endures," he argued. "In fact, if you look at the research, particularly that published by-"

"Oh, quiet down," the Three said, dropping into a seat wit an impatient gesture. "The only reason _you're_ even so worked up over this is that you frakked the man. We agree with One. This is a petty matter that pales in importance to other items on our agenda."

"If it was a woman, it would be different," an Eight put in, "given that a pregnancy could result. But in this case, that's hardly a question, is it?"

"So you're saying that it doesn't matter because he can't get pregnant?" Baltar demanded.

"That's exactly what we're saying," the One said. "The discussion is closed."

"But the New Caprica Police-" Baltar began.

"The discussion is closed," the One repeated.

Felix closed his eyes. At one time, he would have believed that Gaius would take him aside, and tell him that _he_ was the President of the Colonies, and no matter what, he'd help Felix find justice. Ordering a few police officers after a bunch of malcontents was a small matter, and exactly what the NCP had been established _for_. In fact, it using the NCP to keep the humans in line played perfectly into the Cylons supposed agenda. Not that that was remotely what Felix wanted.

Which was just as well, because Baltar wasn't going to say a damn thing. Felix opened his eyes in time to see Baltar sit back down at his desk, slowly, with the face of an obstinate teenager, and retreat back to his own little world.

Felix Gaeta was used to being swept under the rug and falling through the cracks. He had just thought, just this one time, he might not be.

 

**Noel "Narcho" Allison**

 

He hated this.

A _Pegasus_ pilot did not hide in a corner, trying to pull himself together. A _Pegasus_ pilot did not huddle in heap in a deserted causeway, hands shaking and the echo of barely contained sobs bouncing off the metal grating of the walls. A _Pegasus_ pilot didn't lose their control and break down like this. When something like this happened, a _Pegasus_ pilot got _pissed._ And they kicked ass right back.

Noel wiped his cheeks with his hands and got unsteadily to his feet. His hands curled into clenched fists, the nails cutting crescents into the palms of his hands as he set his jaw and took a deep breath.

Frak _Galactica_, and frak her marines. Noel would take them all on.

He strode out of the causeway, furious at himself for even hiding in there for a few minutes. It wouldn't be hard to find him- he'd heard him announce he was going to Joe's for a post-frak drink.

Post-frak. What a frakking laugh.

It hurt to walk, but Noel ignored it. There was a fight happening in the corridor ahead of him- he could hear it from here. No one would break it up- he was sure of that. At least, no one official. No one gave a frak about that any more. Not after yesterday. Not after Earth.

Joe's was full. He expected that, pushing past person after person, searching drunken face after face. The atmosphere was electric, the raw emotion making the hair on the back of Noel's neck stand up. If things were different, he'd be prowling this crowd with a very different purpose in mind. No one seemed to notice him, which bugged him. He knew he must look like shit, but impassive, dead eyes kept turning away.

He heard the laughter first, and he knew it was a laugh that he would remember the rest of his life. The marine was standing, drinking with several friends, all as big as he was. Noel's eyes narrowed, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to run away, or failing that, to vomit, but he charged forward. He grabbed the marine's shoulder, and when he turned, he had the hard, bitter satisfaction of a landing a fist right across his face.

The marine struck back, and Noel knew he didn't stand a chance. Of _course_ he didn't- it wasn't like he hadn't fought back in that causeway. But the marine- frak, he couldn't even remember his _name_ \- was a good six inches taller and probably seven stones of pure muscle heavier. The punch was more like a sledgehammer across the face, but this time Noel was ready and he rolled with it, and came up spitting blood.

The desperation of the causeway was still strong within him, and when he was this close and could actually _smell_ the frakker again, it only intensified. He forgot any strategy or any technique; he just poured the anger and the hate into his fists. When the other marines pulled Noel off, he was trying to gouge his opponent's eyes out with his fingers.

"What the frak?" The marine holding Noel back was one he recognized – a woman named Abigail. He tried to break free from her grip, but she knew what she was doing and her hold threatened to snap his elbows. "Kelpar. What the _frak_ is going on?"

_Kelpar._ Noel spit. Kelpar shrugged off the other marines and smirked.

"Got me," he said, arms crossed and a superior look on his face. "Earth's got everyone crazy."

"It's not about Earth," Noel growled, straining against Abigail's hold. She tightened her grip until his elbow screamed in protest. "This frak _raped_ me."

"Raped you?" Kelpar's smirk deepened. "I did not."

"What the hell? You did!"

"I did not." Kelpar turned to the other marines, who were watching. Some of them looked concerned, and some didn't. "He was all over me in that causeway. He was totally into it," Kelpar said.

"I would have blown you," Noel corrected, although the thought now made him sick, "and let you blow me. I did _not_ say you could shove your dick up my ass, and I was damn clear about that!"

"You said no, but you wanted it." Kelpar was more confident now, arms crossed as he approached Noel. The silent approval from the marines was almost tangible. "You just like it rough, don't you, Narcho? Hell, from what I hear, you like it any way you can get it."

"I've frakked him," a marine that Noel was pretty sure named Kevin volunteered.

"Me, too." This came from a knuckledragger Noel was _sure_ was called Ella. He'd liked her, too. He glared at her, mutely begging for help, but she was watching him with narrowed eyes. "And I know he did my friend Anna, too."

"Frak, you even did _Remners_. Don't think we all haven't heard about _that_ one." Kelpar laughed. "Skinny little twit that he is. Last I heard, you'd done him more than once. Anyone that desperate…" he trailed off, grinning at his friends. "Tell me that if he'd frak Frank Remners, he wouldn't frak me."

"Hard logic to argue with," someone put in.

_Frank._ Noel turned his head away, because that burgeoning relationship with Frank was the one good thing in his life and the last thing he wanted was for these assholes to see it. "That doesn't change the facts," he growled.

"What facts? You were on me. You wanted it, you just were playing hard to get. So I just did what you wanted. And believe me, you little frakker, no one's gonna believe anything else. Especially not about _you_."

"The Admiral will. When I report this-"

"The Admiral?" Kelpar spurted with laughter. "You think _Admiral Adama_ is gonna give a rat's ass about anything right now? Frak, hardly anyone's seen him since Earth; he's holed up most of the time with Roslin, and when he's not, he's just wandering around half-dead. And his motherfrakking toaster of an XO isn't gonna have time to hear you out either."

"He will."

"No he won't. You're a _Pegasus_ pilot. Good luck getting time with him." Kelpar grabbed Noel's face, his fingers digging into his cheeks so hard that Noel almost cried out. "No one's going to believe you, you frakking slut, so keep your mouth shut." His voice was lowered, but he leaned even closer, so his mouth was against Noel's ear. "And if I find out you told the brass, I _will_ find you, and I'll make sure you don't walk right for a long, long time. Got it, Viper jock?" He patted Noel's cheek- hard- and then pushed him away. "Let him go," he ordered Abigail, with a condescending wave of his hand.

Abigail released Noel, who stumbled, and the release flooded his arm with fresh pain. Kelpar turned away, and he noticed that several of the other marines did, too. For a long moment he stood in the middle of Joe's, angry and frustrated.

So many people must have overheard parts of the conversation. The press of bodies was so close… someone had to have heard. Someone had to give a shit. But every place he looked, no one would meet his eye. From the crewman who scrubbed toilets to the trio of officers having a drink, everyone was acting like he didn't exist. It was easier that way, he supposed, and he'd made his enemies on _Galactica_.

The message was loud and clear: no one quite believed his version of what had happened. And _if_ it had happened the way Noel said, if he had _really_ been raped… well, he was a _Pegasus_ officer. He was known as someone who would frak anyone, man or woman, regardless of looks or age. He wasn't a member of the inner circle. He was argumentative and a slut and a pain in the ass, and in the aftermath of Earth, what happened to him was completely unimportant. He was on his own.

Noel's shoulders slumped, and with a final searing curse, he left the bar.

 

**Sam Adama**

 

"Sam. Sam!" The voice came from very far away. Sam opened his eyes, trying to wipe at the sticky substance that had dripped down into them. His fingers came away red.

"Frak." That same voice again. "Paulie. Run and get Greta. She's the doctor, not me. Sam… are you with us?"

"What?" Sam tried to blink, but it hurt.

The hands on his body were firm. "Let's get you to sit up. Can you do that for me?" He obeyed, but only because someone was helping him. It _hurt_. "All right. Can you tell me your name? Your full name?"

"My name?" He remembered something that they'd told him a while ago. "No."

Whoever it was who had the hands sighed. "Sam, this is me. This is _us_. Tell me your name."

"No."

Someone laughed. "The kid's all right."

"Shut it, Jack. Sam, one more time. Tell me your frakking name."

The face in front of him began to resolve enough that he recognized it. Long dark hair, a missing eye, and piercings in the left ear. Tara. He relaxed a little. "Sam Adama."

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Seventeen."

"Where are you?"

"Caprica."

"All right." Tara slipped her arm around him a little more firmly. "You're at least with us. That's good. Now what the frak happened?"

"I was unloading the van," Sam remembered… and then he didn't want to talk any more. He remembered the shouts, the gang of Capricans, right around his age, the insults. None of those had mattered- what had mattered was when the Caprican kids tried to take a case of the liquor. You didn't steal from the Ha'la'tha- even morons knew that, and Sam wasn't going to let them. He'd lost.

"They got a case of the good stuff," he muttered.

Tara glanced up over her shoulder and sighed with impatience. "The liquor? We know that. Frankly, I don't give a frak about that right now."

"But they stole from-"

"The were kids. That's not what I'm asking you, Sam. Tell me what happened."

That was when he remembered the security cameras outside the club. She wasn't asking – she already knew the answer.

They were interrputed by the bustling sound of Greta approaching. "Get out of my way," she ordered, pushing people aside. "Oh, frak." She knelt down, immediately applying a wet towel to Sam's forehead. "Hold that," she ordered Tara. Sam tried to look up at her, but the world began to spin. He closed his eyes again, willing the contents of his stomach to stay down. He wasn't sure if he succeeded or not- all he knew was that the world eventually went black.

When he woke up, he was first aware of softness. He groaned, putting his hand to his head and feeling bandages.

"Don't move too much," a low voice said. Sam groaned again, and his eyes slitted open. A man was sitting next to his bed, wearing a white linen suit, his legs elegantly crossed. He regarded Sam with an unreadable expression.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, trying to sit up.

The man held up a hand, and Sam found that even that simple gesture was enough to make him stop and lie back down. "Tell me what happened," the man said, and there was a tone of an order about it.

Sam told him. There was no way he could not, not with the expression on the man's face. It might seem polite and interested, but underneath there was steel… command. Sam responded. He told the man about the smell in the alley, the clink of the bottles as he unloaded the truck. The Capricans… what they were wearing, what they said, the threats and the insults. His own replies, the way he had just gone about his work. The rough laughter, the way the air had been sucked out of his lungs and the space around him when they closed in. And the blows, the fight, the tearing of clothing, and the way they held him down. The struggles and the searing pain. The man listened, fist against his lips, his expression tentative. He didn't say anything, not until Sam's voice grew hoarse and he fell silent.

Silence consumed the room. Sam wanted to look away, but he couldn't. It would be weakness, he was vaguely aware of that, so he kept his gaze on the man, looking as tough as he could. The man sat deep in thought for a moment, and then gestured. Another man, one that Sam hadn't seen before, stepped forward. The man in white linen leaned in and murmured something quietly, and the second man nodded and disappeared. The man in white linen turned back to Sam.

"Sam. Do you know who I am?" Sam shook his head, an action that he almost regretted. "My name is Peter Torov. Now do you know who I am?"

"You're the Gautrau," Sam muttered.

Peter smiled. "_A_ gautrau," Peter clarified. "But the gautrau in charge of this district, yes. And I'm going to tell you how this is going to go." He uncrossed his legs and leaned in. "I understand that this was very… traumatic… very horrible for you, and you will want revenge. No, not revenge. You will want _justice._ Am I right?"

Sam hadn't had time to think about it yet, but he didn't need it. "Yeah."

There was a flick of a smile on Peter's face, one that came and went so fast that Sam thought he might have hallucinated it. Peter leaned in closer. "You will want to go to the authorities," he told Sam, "but you will not."

The thought of letting them go… he was still too raw, but the thought surged up inside him and he struggled to sit up again. This time, Peter actually put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

"They're not getting away with this," Sam said, and his throat hurt with the words.

"I never said they would," Peter answered. His hand stayed on Sam's shoulder. "Let me tell you something, Sam. The police in this town are worthless. If you went down to that station and filed your report, they would take it, and as soon as you left they would throw it in the trash. You are a Tauron, you are a street rat, and you are a homosexual. On their own, each of those things might be overcome. Put them together, and not an officer in that station will lift a finger to help you."

"It can't be that bad," Sam insisted.

"You think I don't know the police force in this town? It is that bad, believe me. They will tell you that you should have fought them harder, or that you brought this on yourself. They will tell you that you probably enjoyed it. They will assume nothing but the worst about you, even though you have evidence to back up your claim. But you _do_ deserve justice. Because to us, you are not a Tauron, or a street rat, or a homosexual. You are family." Peter's hand tightened on Sam's shoulder. "You are family, and the Ha'la'tha takes care of its own."

"I'm a bartender," Sam began.

"Who took a beating and a rape because he tried to protect a single crate of my property. When I see loyalty like that, I know there is something special. You're not an employee, Sam. You're family. And when someone attacks a member of the family, they attack all of us. You _will_ get the justice that you deserve." Peter gave a small, bitter smile. "And your first tattoo, I think. The swirl on your right shoulder."

Injured in the line of duty. Sam had a flash of pride. "I haven't taken the Oath," he reminded Peter.

Peter stood up. "But you will. I know that now." He clasped Sam's shoulder one more time, and then leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. "_Aisthanontai kalytera, agaphte ena_." He left, the soles of his shoes not making any sound on the floor.

Sam laid back against the pillow. He knew that Peter was right about the police force, and if he took this to them he would get nothing out of it. There would be no revenge, no justice, no compensation. But if he trusted in Peter, trusted in the Ha'la'tha… he would get what he needed, and more.

_Family._ It had been years since he'd had more family than Joseph. It felt good to belong again, and Sam wasn't going anywhere.

He closed his eyes, and let sleep take him again.

 

**Author's End Note:** I sincerely apologize to anyone who actually speaks Greek - I'm sure that the translation in the fic isn't all that good. Peter's words are meant to be _feel better, dear one._


End file.
